He’s not here.

The weight of it hits me. This is my purpose, and I have failed. All this time I’ve only been thinking about Tucker. I saved him because I didn’t want to live on earth without him. I didn’t want that kind of pain. I’m that selfish. And now Christian is gone. He’s supposed to be important, my mom said. There was a plan for him, something bigger than me or Tucker or anything else. Something he was meant for. And now he’s gone.

“Christian!” I scream raggedly, the noise echoing off the blackened tree trunks.

There’s no answer.

For a while I look for his body. I wonder if it could have been burned into ash, if the fire was that hot. I circle back to the truck. The keys are still in the ignition. That’s the only sign of him. I wander the burned forest in a daze, searching. Then the sun is setting, a fiery red ball descending behind into the mountains. It’s getting dark.

The storm clouds that have been moving in from the east open up and pour like a faucet being turned on. Within minutes I’m soaked to the skin. Shivering. Alone.

I can’t go home. I don’t think I can stand to see the disappointment on Mom’s face. I don’t think I can live with myself. I walk, cold and wet, strands of hair sticking to my face and neck. I hike to the top of the ridge and watch the fire burning in the distance, the flames licking at the orange sky. It’s beautiful, in a way. The glow. The dance of the smoke. And then there’s the storm, the black rumbling clouds, the little flashes of lightning here and there. The rain so cool on my face, washing away the soot. That’s how it always is, I guess. Beauty and death.

Behind me, something moves in the bushes. I turn.

Christian steps out of the trees.

Time is a funny thing. Sometimes it crawls endlessly on. Like French class. Or waiting for a fish to bite. And other times it speeds up, the days zooming by. I remember this one time in first grade. I was standing in the middle of the elementary school playground near the monkey bars and a bunch of third graders ran by. They seemed huge to me. Someday, a long, long time from now, I thought at that moment, I will be in third grade. That was more than ten years ago, but it feels like ten minutes. I was just there. Time flies, isn’t that what they say? My summer with Tucker. The first time I had the vision until now.

And sometimes time really does stop.

Christian and I stare at each other like we’re both under a spell and if one of us moves, the other one will disappear.

“Oh, Clara,” he whispers. “I thought you were dead.”

“You thought I . . .”

He reaches to touch a strand of my wet hair. I’m suddenly dizzy. Exhausted. Wildly confused. I sway on my feet. He catches me by the shoulders and steadies me. I press my eyes closed. He’s real. He’s alive.

“You’re soaked,” he observes. He pulls off the black fleece jacket, which is only slightly less damp, and drapes it around my shoulders.

“Why are you here?” I whisper.

“I thought I was supposed to save you from the fire.”

I stare at him so intently that he flushes.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “That was a weird thing to say. I meant—”

“Christian—”

“I’m just glad you’re safe. We should get you inside before you catch cold or something.”

“Wait,” I say, tugging at his arm. “Please.”

“I know this doesn’t make any sense. . . .”

“It makes sense,” I insist, “except for the part where you’re supposed to save me.”

“What?”

“I’m supposed to save you.”

“What? Now I’m confused,” he says.

“Unless . . .” I take a few steps back. He starts to follow, but I hold up a trembling hand.

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmurs. “I won’t hurt you. I would never hurt you.”

“Show yourself,” I whisper.

There’s a brief flash of light. When my eyes adjust I see Christian standing under the burned trees. He coughs and looks at his feet almost like he’s ashamed. Sprouting from his shoulder blades are large speckled wings, ivory with black flecks, like someone has splattered him with paint. He flexes them carefully and then folds them into his back.

“How did you . . . ?”

“In your vision, did we meet down there?” I ask, gesturing down toward Fox Creek Road. “You say, ‘It’s you,’ and I say, ‘Yes, it’s me,’ and then we fly away?”

“How do you know that?”

I summon my wings. I know the feathers are dark now, and what that will mean to him, but he deserves to know the truth.

His eyes widen. He lets out an incredulous breath, the way he does when he laughs sometimes. “You’re an angel-blood.”

“I’ve been having the vision since November,” I say, the words tumbling out. “It’s why we moved here. I was supposed to find you.”

He stares at me, stunned.

“But it’s my fault,” he says after a moment. “I didn’t get here on time. I didn’t expect there to be two fires. I didn’t know which one.”

He glances up at me. “I didn’t know it was you at first. It was the hair. I didn’t recognize you with the red hair. Stupid, I know. I knew there was something different about you, I always felt—in my vision you always have blond hair. And for a while that’s all I saw—I’d hear someone walk up behind me, but before I’d turn around completely, the vision would end. I never saw your face until I had the vision at prom.”

“It’s not your fault, Christian. It’s mine. I wasn’t here to meet you. I didn’t save you.”

My voice is loud and shrill in the emptiness of the burned forest. I put my hands over my eyes and will myself not to cry.

“But I didn’t need to be saved,” he says gently. “Maybe we were supposed to save each other.”

From what, I wonder.

I drop my hands to see him walking toward me, reaching out. We aren’t in the vision now, but I still find him beautiful, even wet with rain and smudged with ash. He takes my hands in his.

“You’re alive,” I choke out, shaking my head. He squeezes my hands, then pulls me in for a hug.

“Yeah, that’s good news to me, too.”

One hand strokes slowly down my wings, sending a tremor through me. Then he pulls back and lifts his hand in front of him, looking at it. His palm is black. I stare at it.

“Your wings are covered with soot,” he says with a laugh.

I grab his hand, draw my finger across it, and sure enough, come away with a mix of soot and rain. He wipes his hand against the sides of his jeans.

“What do we do now?” I ask.

“Let’s just play it by ear.” He looks into my eyes again, then down at my lips. Another quake shakes me. He wets his lips, then looks back into my eyes. Asking me.

This could be my second chance. If neither one of us needed saving. What else is there, but this? It seems like we’ve been set up on some kind of heavenly ordained date. We don’t need the fire. We could reenact the vision here and now.

“It was always you,” he says, so close I could feel his breath on my face.

I’m drowning. I do want him to kiss me. I want to make everything right again. To make my mother proud. To do what I am supposed to do. To love Christian, if that’s what I’m meant for.

Christian starts to lean in.

“No,” I whisper, unable to get my voice any louder. I pull back. My heart doesn’t belong to me anymore. It belongs to Tucker. I can’t pretend that away. “I can’t.”

He steps back immediately.

“Okay,” he says. He clears his throat.

I take a deep breath, try to clear my head. The rain’s finally stopped. Night has fallen. We’re both soaking wet, and cold, and confused. I’m still holding his hand. I tighten my fingers around his.

“I’m in love with Tucker Avery,” I tell him simply.

He looks surprised, like the idea that I might be already taken never crossed his mind. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Please don’t be sorry. Anyway, aren’t you still in love with Kay?”